


Would that be good for us?

by blackheartboi, Dear_Evan_Kleinsen, highkeyhamiltrash



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: A tag just came up saying needs more dinosaurs and honestly i agree, Aaaanyway, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Because sincerely three needs more love, But also a mom friend, But he just needs love okay?, But it does get better I promise, Connor is angry and I love him, Connor starts out as a dick, Cynthia's trying her best, Depression, Drug Use, Evan is just so smol all the time, Everyones a mess except from Alana, God what are these tags, Heidi is a gem too good for everyone, I promise the other writers arent this weird, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Ive almost defiantly forgotten something, Jared is a dimensional character fuck u all, Jareds dad is a total douche, Jareds mom is great, Ligit so much fucking angst, Multi, No smut because haha nooo, Other, Polyamory, Smoking (drugs. juST FIX IT), So is Evans, Swearing, This is why I shouldn't be given responsibility, Well didn't that get off to a fun start, What a coincidence so is Connors, oh yeah!, sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-02 15:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11512473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackheartboi/pseuds/blackheartboi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dear_Evan_Kleinsen/pseuds/Dear_Evan_Kleinsen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/highkeyhamiltrash/pseuds/highkeyhamiltrash
Summary: Connor was angry and vulnerable. Jared was snarky and insecure. Evan was anxious and confused.What could go wrong?Sincerely three AU. I promise it's better than the summary.





	1. Dear Connor Murphy

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I really hope you enjoy this fic. It'll be co-written with my two really close friends who will be writing for Jared and Evan.
> 
> TW: Slight mentions of suicidal thoughts and drug use

Connor Murphy was a 'problem child.'

He was the established black sheep in a family of immense wealth and obsessive image, of which they flaunted like the crown jewels.Each meticulous fear or doubt woven intricately beneath an exterior of perfection.

But the boy wasn't driven by his privilege, nor his alleged perfection. While the youngest of the Murphy clan thrived in high school, mastering the complex art of the high school social hierarchy in a whirl of effortless charisma; exuding a contagious aura of confidence, Connor found himself endlessly trying to hang from the sides in a desperate attempt not to slip away. To disappear.

All his life, the boy had been struggling to bear the weight of the constant appearances and fake smiles, but he'd managed. 

At least until everything changed. When his family got a hint of who he really was. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. When everything crumbled in front of him.

It had stemmed from the drawings. Since first grade, Connor had found a certain comfort from his smooth graphite running across the delicate sheets of paper purloined from the supply cupboard. As time passed, and the foundations of his life slowly began to chip away, the boy soon found solace in the activity. Through the arguments that had slowly become a fixture of his daily life; the rare comfort of drawing kept him grounded as he began to slip away from reality.

The oldest child had been unaware of the distance that had only developed between his younger sister, until suddenly, they were engaged in a fierce screaming match with each other and scarring the girls face with an expression of undeniable terror.

Connor had been locked in his room to cry himself to sleep.  


And the foundations only continued to deteriorate when his father discovered his sketchbook.

Connors main rule had been to never leave his sketchbook in sight. Though he couldn't visualise any consequences, he knew there were undoubtedly some in place for his inevitable discovery.

And oh _boy_ there had been.

A month later and his precious book had been returned, scarred with the pages ripped from it and burnt to ashes in front of him, roaring fire reflected in his blazing irises. It was that month his walls finally crumbled to the ground. Suddenly, his lust for adventure, for hope, for _life_ had dissipated; leaving only an angry, aggressive shell in his wake. After the first time on the roof, he turned to weed. It helped him. Despite what people said, it kept him safe from the darkness that had plagued him since that moment. But it wasn't that he hadn't tried to get better. Being sent to the school counsellor was the 'first step to recovery'

And it _had_ helped, At least at first. 

Until they informed his parents of his 'homosexual feelings'. 

All thoughts of recovery disappeared and it became apparent to the boy that the only therapy he'd ever receive would be delivered with electricity to conceal their fuck-up of a son. 

So he lied. And he lived that lie; mental state crumbling deteriorating like the walls that'd once kept him together. He became dependant on pot in a final attempt to keep those last foundations together. But it changed him. The broken parts destroyed any semblance of positive emotions, leaving only an angry shell in its wake. Until that was all that was left. 

And it was in that state he departed from the house that morning, eyes glazed over as he pointedly ignored his sister, shoving her out of the way and stepping into the dreaded building, each footstep delivered with his heavy, black boots weighing him down like they were pulling him further and further into the sea of students. His locker was nearby and he stopped there, hoping to look normal to an extent that no questions regarding his home life would be asked. 

Connor knew he instilled fear into the alumni, even the most poignant remarks were made with underlying trepidation. Over the years he'd become renowned for his aggressive and often violent outbursts. And that was _okay_. It was _okay_ he was the class freak. It was _okay_ that his defining feature was the label of 'mentally fucked stoner.'

But there was no way anyone could ever see past his hollow shell and uncover the terrified soul beneath. Not now, not ever. 

The sound of his locker door slamming shut echoed throughout the halls and he stalked to his first class. 


	2. Dear Evan Hansen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter you met the anger and vulnerability of the Sincerely Three relationship  
> In this chapter meet the anxiety and confusion. Meet Evan Hansen.

Evan Hansen didn't exactly have the most perfect childhood. Heidi and Greg Hansen, his beloved mother and father, were arguing as long as he could remember. From the moment he woke up, to late at night with the fighting was so loud it kept him awake, the constant screaming scared him into the start of his problems. 

And one day, his dad just left. Not a single look was spared back at the broken mother and young child he left behind. Evan loved his dad- Sure, he may have constantly picked out everything wrong with the small blonde, whether it was his flamboyancy, or his stuttering, or his fidgeting, or his lack of ability to order on his own, or his shyness, or his inability to do anything he wanted to; he was still his father. And he loved him for that, just like he thought greg loved him back. So, the thought that someone who loved him dearly could just leave one day made him start doubting himself. Evan must've done something wrong, why else would he leave? 

He thought that maybe if he had just piped up during the fighting, his small voice peeking out through the roar of yelling, that maybe his father would've stayed. Maybe if he didn't just coward in fear as the two people he loved the most quarrel over how he needed to be fixed or how he was perfect, if he didn't freeze up, then maybe that would've been enough.

It was his fault that he didn't have a father. It was his fault that his mother now sat, inconsolable, on the couch, drained, and unable to even fake a smile through most of his toddler through to beginning of his adolescent years. It was his fault. 

Then there was his best friend, Jared Kleinman. Mrs. Kleinman and his mother were best friends growing up, the same aged boys following in their footsteps. At a young age, Evab was too afraid to talk to anyone, too afraid to get close to anyone in fear that they too might abandon him. So Jared did all the talking, occasionally asking Evan to check up that he was okay. 

Though eventually, he started to get more comfortable around the boy. His silence turned into head nods and the occasional pipe up, which turned into full conversations, which turned into a close friendship. A tight bond that he thought would last forever. 

The two had created a mirror, one that reflected all their past, showing them the foundation in which their relationship was built on, and that let them see their future, the ways in which their relationship would only continue to blossom. Though all glass is break able, though mirror glass is one of the easiest to shatter. And that's exactly what happened. Something clicked within jared, he snapped at evan, and the mirror shattered into a million pieces. 

The Jared he knew was then replaced with a confident, sarcastic, cocky one, replaced with one who didn't need evan as a friend anymore. So their unbreakable friendship built on helping each other, caring, and love was now a million glass shards of eyes rolls, mean jabs, and broken hearts. Or at least Evan's broken heart. another thing about glass is no matter how hard someone may try, it is unfixable. Especially if only one person was showing any interest to fix it. 

And of course, his biggest problem, his social anxiety. He was diagnosed at a young age, even before his dad had left. The disorder was often the topic of argument between his parents, his dad saying that he needed to be fixed, which obviously didn't make it better. It riddled him where he couldn't converse easily, often fidgeting and stammering through the talking. His daily pills kept him at least somewhat grounded to whatever his ground was. 

But it made him lonely. Isolated. He wanted to disappear. It's not like anyone would really notice anyways. 

When he fell out of the tree over summer, no one was there to scoop him up. To take him to the hospital. To tell him that everything was okay. To make it okay. He was on the ground, his arm numb, alone. 

And it was his fault. Every time he loved someone or something he drove it away some how. It was his fault that no body was there. That he was forgotten in the middle of nowhere. That he could disappear. That he could fall and no one would hear. It was his fault that he was lonely. 

So now, Evan Hansen sat in the empty computer lab. The only noise that could be heard was the click of the keyboard and the printing process of his mandatory therapy letter, echoing through the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm (instagram and ao3) @ highkeyhamiltrash and I'll be writing for Evan! Hope you guys liked my chapter (sorry it's pretty bad), feel free to leave your comments and kudos below! Don't feel pressured to though, sorry if you did!


	3. Dear That Other Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've met the angry and vulnerable one, and the anxious and confused one. You know what would make this relationship even more complex? You guessed it! A snarky and insecure asshole.
> 
> You're welcome.

     Jared wanted to yell. Or to clap his hands so hard that they stung. Not a clap of appreciation, or admiration, but a collision that snaps his mind from his thoughts of self-hate and insecurities and straight into a complete focus on that pain. Take all concern away from the torment going on in his head and onto his physical hurt. The problem with this was, the brunette hated everything about his body as well. To put all of his attention on any part of him for a while sounded like torture to him. He would probably end up throwing up at how _disgusting_ he was.

 

    He longed for something to take him away from himself. Wether it be a supporting friend, or death itself. Yes, that sounded selfish of him, but he couldn't take this anymore. He didn't want to see his reflection and start shaking at how ugly he was. He didn't want to hide himself away behind a mask of fake humor to cover up the fact he was an emotional disaster. He didn't want to hold people at an arms length, because he feared if they got any closer they'd understand why he locked himself away in a cage where all mirrors were cracked and unfixable. A sound-proof trap that blocks him away from others, and doesn't allow anyone to hear his shrieks for help. A cell where the only people around him  _was_ him. He tried to escape before, but inevitably failed. At first, this confinement wasn't familiar. It was like being placed in a deserted town where he had to do everything himself. Obviously, when there's only one person in control of a large place, everything crumples down to the ground. Too much power and responsibility for a single being to handle. That's how it was for Jared. He's been left by himself for so long, that being broken wasn't even strange anymore. Being isolated, and trapped in his 'cage' was now his normal. He expected it every morning when he woke up, and wasn't in shock when it swooped him away from his very few hours of resting. He had gotten used to it.

 

     'That's a good thing!' You may say. 'It's progress! You've embraced it!' Is it progress? Or is it one last cry for help before being dragged down into an endless pit? One last word before being shoved away from a world of color, and into a void of meaningless conversations and words. Where speech became fighting and fighting became fire and that fire came in so quickly, roaring through a city full of once peaceful childhood memories, and times of hope and adolescence. The disaster didn't kill, no. Instead, every person who faced it was left with burn marks. Instead of the tragedy taking lives, it left every single person to do it themselves. To feel content with dying, because maybe that was easier.

 

      Why do they say 'don't go towards the light' when you're close to the end? Why is your doom so bright? Maybe because it's not a bad thing. Maybe because it's a place where darkness doesn't prevail. A place where everything isn't weighed on your shoulders, but instead weight is transformed into happiness, and that happiness chases away those burn scars that the fire gave you. The fire that was fighting and that fighting that was speaking and the speaking that is /life./ Life is a word, and words are what form games. A game is usually full of laughter and joy. Unless you're the one losing.  
Most of society are winners, and everyone knows the people with 'issues' are the losers.  
But what if the losers don't know they are losing? What if all they've ever known is failure, so winning isn't even-isn't in their vocabulary?

 

   What if-

 

   "Jared! You gotta go soon or you'll be late!" He heard his mother call. He grabs his bag, arms feeling heavy and tired. He slings the straps over his shoulders and starts walking. 'Thunk thunk thunk' He trudged himself down the stairs, his shoes making a pattern of noise as he finds himself getting closer and closer to the ground floor. The taunting little voice in his head returned, simply whispering its words. 'You could skip a few meals today.'

 

   His hands were buried in his pocket as he made it to the door, about to open it; then

 

......

 

   "I love you, honey."

  The sweet voice of a mom who doesn't know that their kid is going through hell, and may not come back.

The three words ring through his head.

I love you

I love you

I love you

I love you

 

'Liar'.

He opens the door and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this sucked ahah! I know I'm not as great as the other writers but I hope you enjoyed this?
> 
> Sorry for the use of metaphors and the scarcity of mentions on actual Jared. He'll start talking more and making his rude remarks and stuff later on.   
> I hope it's not to ooc?  
> I mean, I personally view Jared as an insecure teenager who has doubts like everyone else, so this chapter is just how I think his thought process is when he's feeling...eh? 
> 
> Anywho, I'll stop rambling now!


	4. ''Now we can both...pretend we have friends''

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Evan become acquainted and it doesn't turn out so well.
> 
> Literally just angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I was so late to update this! But ya boi is here with your intake of angst.
> 
> Pre warning: I wrote the majority of this between 3 and 5am so I apologise in advance for the awful writing quality.

Piercing ringing echoed through the halls and they immediately began to fill; the relentless school day finally drawing to a close. Connor Murphy found himself gripped by the urge to wander the school after the large hordes of hormonal teens finally dissipated. Copper locks concealing his dark orbs from view, the boy travelled slowly through the desolate halls, experiencing the rare comfort he received from the usually unforgiving space. 

Coming across the heavy, wooden door labelled 'computer lab, entry.' Connors shoulders, raised upwards minutely as he inwardly debated making an entrance. On one hand, he'd be free to take advantage of the rarely-accessible facilities and be soothed by the therapeutic tap of the keys. However, despite the likely possibility that it would be empty, small collections of friends were a tormenting reminder that he was...flying solo, as it were.

Sure, It wasn't like he actively attempted to seek out a companion, but who'd want to befriend him anyway? The only possible thing that could be gained from his friendship was the wealth and power that clung to him like a vicious snake, crushing him in its grasp.

Eventually deciding to ward off any groups by shooting glares at them across the room until they inevitably shared a look of fear and scattered (a usually favourable outcome), he pushed open the doors and was pleasantly surprised to see only one lone occupant using a computer. The boy was alone and was sitting quietly; face screwed up in what he assumed to be deep (and perhaps troubling) thought.

As he was about to cross the room, the sound of the old printer spitting out a sheet of crisp paper filled his ears and Connor made a snap decision to assist the boy in his printing pursuits. Grabbing the sheet, the taller of the two walked over to the other boy; of which was clad in a striped, soft blue polo shirt; complete with a hard, white cast adorning his lower-right arm. He soon recognised him as the boy he'd shoved in the halls that same day.

Approaching quietly, he cleared his throat as a way to announce his presence. "Um...how'd you break your arm?" He asked, cringing internally at his voice. While the boy usually paraded a permanently angry and impatient tone, at present, the tallers voice quavered ever so slightly; a subtle betrayal of the inexplicable nerves shaking his lanky frame.

Seemingly surprised at the question, the boy spoke in a soft, quiet voice; perhaps from disuse. Perhaps because he didn't want to seen with someone like resident aggressive stoner, Connor Murphy. 

''Oh...I-I uh... _fell_ out of a tree, actually?'' The extra emphasis on the word 'fell' caused the tallers eyebrows to furrow in question, before dismissing it and painting his face in an amused expression.

''You fell? Well, that's just the saddest fucking thing I've ever heard, oh my God.'' He remarked, punctuated with a humourless laugh. Surprisingly, the other boy followed suit, letting out a short, lilting laugh that seemed to brighten the previously dull room, followed by a quiet ''I know.''

An awkward silence fell heavily across the room and Connor averted his eyes around the room, fixing on the hard, white cast concealing the boys thin lower arm. Clearing his throat, the taller spoke again, feeling a strange need to maintain the flow of conversation.

''Uh...no one's signed your cast.'' The words made the blue-clad boys face fall, though it was barely noticeable; his shoulders quickly rising and falling as he said ''Oh uh...I-I know.'' 

''Well, I'll sign it.''

The unusually kind words seemed to take the smaller by surprise, and he hurriedly stuttered out protests; of which Connor quickly silenced with a quiet ''do you have a sharpie?'' The question was quickly answered when the boy produced the aforementioned pen from his pocket. Grabbing his arm, Connor shakily wrote his name in a series of large strokes; bashfully apologising when the other winced.

Dropping the arm now bearing his signature, the long haired boy sent the other a ghost of a smile. ''Well now we can both...pretend we have friends.''

Remembering his original purpose for conversation, he extended his arm to the nervous boy; holding the paper out expectantly.

''Oh uh, is this yours? It says uh, 'Evan Hansen' on it, that's your name right?'' Compelled by curiosity, the dark haired boy's blue irises scanned the page, fixing on the name Zoe. Was that...his sister? Through the corner of his eye line, the boy noticed Evans arms reaching frantically for the sheet; missing it as Connor pulled it from his reach.

''Because there's Zoe? Did you write this about my sister?'' His previous note of relative calm had all but disappeared beneath the venom lacing his tone. The desperate boy's words fell on deaf ears as Connor felt a familiar build of uncontrollable, unnecessary anger.

_Calm the fuck down, calm the FUCK down-_

''You wrote this because you knew I would find it.'' Connor spoke slowly through gritted teeth, dragging each word as the question formulated into a sure statement. ''Yeah you..saw that I was the only one in the computer lab so you wrote this and you...printed it out so I would find it.

Evan flinched away at the deceptively calm pitch, staring at the floor as he barely whispered a protest. ''B-...why...why would I-''

''So I could find some creepy shit you wrote about my sister and freak out, right?'' All remnants of quiet were lost as the tallers shouts filled the room. Connor held the paper like a lifeline, yelling over the others weak protests.

''AND THEN YOU CAN TELL EVERYONE THAT _IM_ CRAZY RIGHT?'' Wind billowed from the heavy doors as he stormed from the room.

Eventually arriving in the school parking lot, the teen inflicted yet another dent upon his already bruised car. A quick, yet somehow quiet, pair of footsteps drew closer and Connor growled; knowing already who inhabited the soft-soled shoes rushing across the deserted space.

''Connor p-please! I-I need that back!'' The voice echoed around his head as the boy in question whipped around and glared vehemently at Evan.

''Why the fuck would you need it back, huh? So you can tell everyone how fucking crazy you think I am? Fuck you.'' The anger that usually permeated his speech had been replaced with a cold monotone; somehow worse than the usual.

''N-No I just-...I-I need it for therapy!"

''Seriously Hansen? You have to show your therapist a creepy fucking letter about my sister?'' He drawled, stepping closer to the shaking boy. His pale, watery blue orbs widened and he flinched.

''I uh...I have to uhm, to w-write these um, these letters or like, um, pep talks? L-Like' Dear Evan Hansen, today's uh, today's g-gonna be a good day and-and here's why.'' The words were spat out and barely audible due to the velocity at which they were said. Attempting to relax his tense shoulders, Connor slowly reached out and held out the infamous letter, stepping away slightly in an attempt to ease the sandy haired boys evident fear.

Connors eyebrows furrowed as he pieced together the information he'd received. Had Evan really not meant for him to see it? 

"So...you didn't write this to make me freak out?" His tone was quiet, apologetic. It sounded foreign on his tongue.

Evan's lowered head quickly lifted as he rushed to answer the question. "N-No! I mean its um, i-it's not like I have um, anyone to uh, t-to tell anyway, so."

Great. Connor wasn't just an asshole, he was a paranoid asshole.

"Right. Uh, sorry for like, freaking out and shit." 

The blondes previously scared expression morphed into an almost smile, eyes still remaining wide, despite the proffered apology. 

"Its okay! I um, I-I'm sorry about the uh, t-the letter, and also um, a-about what uh, what J-Jared said earlier? He can um, w-well sometimes he's kind of um, kind of an asshole?"

"It's fine, he just pissed me off I guess, I shouldn't of like, shoved you, so it's whatever." after a moment of semi-awkward pause, he decided to end the conversation before he managed to fuck anything else up.

Ok well I'm gonna like, go so. Seya around, Hansen."

As the taller turned to leave, he was suddenly stopped by a quiet "Wait!" from behind him. Once again turning around the face the boy in question, he raised his eyebrows expectancy, the blonde, in turn, looking decisively uncomfortable with his sudden outburst.

S-Sorry I um, d-do you maybe uh, I-I just mean-" a pause. "When you said we could um, p-pretend to have friends, I uh, what if we um, were like, real friends? Only if you want to though! Sorry, I-I don't know why I asked, w-why would you want that, I just-"

Wait, Evan Hansen wanted to be friends with _him?_

" Hansen, chill. I uh, I'll text you." Advancing forward, he held out a hand, signalling for the boy to hand Connor his phone, of which he did after a momentary silence where his pale irises appeared shocked at his agreement. 

After typing his number into the contacts of the boys phone, Connor returned the device to its owner, before promptly returning to his car, leaving the blonde with a rushed "See you tomorrow" thrown over his shoulder.

Slamming the door almost definitely too hard, the boy slouched in the ripped, leather seat. As the last speck of a now familiar blue shirt slipped away, Connor attempted to focus on the road, the music blaring from the speaker serving as a somewhat effective distraction. It was almost too good to be true, surely there had to be a catch, but for now, the boy refused to allow himself to dwell on it. 

-

Once finally arriving at the Murphy residence, he took a quick breath and slid his key into the door; bracing himself for the shouts already emerging from the crack in the door.

 _Home sweet_ fucking _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter I'll try to actually update on time next time.
> 
> Holy heck over 400 hits and we've only had this up for a week? Thank you all so much for reading, yyour comments and kudos honestly mean the absolute world to us.
> 
> Hit me up on my tumblr and instagram
> 
> instagram: @/musicalsinnertrash  
> tumblr: @/1dogonaskateboard

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Stay tuned for (hopefully) regular updates. Thank you so much for reading and feel free to drop a comment or kudos.


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